


In Celebration

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [26]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hanukkah, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holidays, Humor, Thanksgiving, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DWMP holiday series. Expect ZERO substance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The love of bare November days

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [В праздники](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715841) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sons of Fëanor are home for the week, and immediately put to work. Well, most of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. The start of my series of DWMP holiday feel-good stories, that I will see if I can crank out over the coming weeks…Still falls within the main arc of DWMP, but they won’t technically be new chapters. (I’ll try to keep any major plot points from occurring. Nonsense and shenanigans only.)

Maedhros growled and shook leaves from his hair. “I  _just_  raked those, Ambarussa!” 

“My bad,” said Amras, unconcernedly. A few leaves drifted to the ground from the bunch he’d just tossed over Maedhros.

“Your bad is right,” said Amrod, who was hanging upside down by his knees from a tree branch. “You were supposed to be aiming for Moryo.” 

“If you want to keep your testicles attached to your body,” said Caranthir, who was attacking the undergrowth with a rake and a certain amount of violence. “You will resist that urge.” 

“Incoming,” said Maglor cheerfully, coming over with a tarp. “Ready to get that pile onto the tarp, Maitimo?” 

“Yes,” said Maedhros, and then gave a cry of disgust as he pulled an earwig from his collar. “ _Damnit_ , Pityo - !” 

“Can’t hear you, Nelyo, raking!” said Amras hastily, as Amrod dropped from the tree. 

“Will you old biddies stop gossiping and actually pull your weight?” Celegorm stomped over, a huge pile of leaves wrapped in a tarp slung over his shoulder. “Christ, I musta done the whole side yard by myself.” 

“That’s what we keep you around for,” said Caranthir, picking grass from his rake. “Dumb, brute labor.” 

“Eat a dick, Moryo,” said Celegorm, dumping his pile of leaves into the trees edging the yard. He grinned. “Well, eat another. In addition to Fi –  _Whoa_ , man, that could have hit me!” For Caranthir had thrown his rake at Celegorm’s head. 

“Yeah, that was the idea.  _Assface._ ” 

There was a rap on the window, and they all looked up guiltily. Nerdanel was watching them from inside her studio. She pointed two fingers at them and mouthed,  _I’m watching you._

“Love you, mom!” called Celegorm. He swung his rake convincingly. “Working hard!” ~~~~

- 

 

Fëanor had put them to work almost immediately after they’d arrived at Formenos for the week. “Excellent; the yard needs raking, the brush needs burning, and the white pines need topping – Nelyafinwë, our ladder broke, so if you don’t mind, we’ve had a branch stuck in our gutter almost a month now…” 

“Hey,” said Celegorm, as they’d trooped outside, pulling on work gloves and with rakes over their shoulders. “Where’s Curvo?” 

“He has work to do,” said Fëanor. “He’s upstairs, studying.” 

Celegorm let out a sputter of indignation. “So he gets off labor detail? No fair! What if I had work?” 

Fëanor crossed his arms. “I would be delighted to hear you had work to do, Turkafinwë. Cover letters to write, grad school applications…hmm? No?”

“Well, what about Moryo?” said Celegorm, not backing down, as Maglor and Maedhros exchanged eye rolls. “ _He’s_  in school, too, shouldn’t – ” 

“Shut up,” muttered Caranthir, kicking his ankle. “You think I’d rather be writing my essay right now?”

“The six of you should be more than enough to get the job done. And if you finish early, the outside windows could use washing.” Fëanor smiled brightly. “I’ve missed having you all around.” 

“For the free, cheap labor?” 

“Exactly. But, you know, there are other perks, too.” Fëanor rested a hand briefly on Maglor’s shoulder. “Now go on, before you lose the light.” 

 

- 

 

“This is huge,” said Maglor, now, studying the pile that Caranthir and the twins had been working on. “Too big to fit on the tarp, I think.” 

“That’s because it serves another purpose,” said Amrod, happily. 

“A greater purpose.” Amras dumped another armful of leaves onto the pile. 

“Yeah,” said Caranthir. “Hey, Mae, did you hang on to that earwig?” 

 

- 

 

Curufin was curled into the big chair in the corner of his old room, bundled into a bulky sweater and absorbed in a large book. A cup of hot black coffee was at his side, and he was so intent on his studying that he didn’t hear the whispers drifting up the stairs. 

“Káno, you get the door.” 

“Ambarussa,  _stop giggling_.”

“I’ll get the top half, Nelyo, you get the bottom half.” 

“No deal. The bottom half kicks.” 

“But the top half  _bites_.” 

“Fair point. Moryo – ” 

“I’ve got the camera going, don’t even worry about it.”

Curufin barely had time to look up when the door burst open and his brothers charged into the room. 

“Grab ‘im, quick!” 

Curufin was only able to get out a brief snarl of rage before Celegorm seized him under the arms, Maedhros grabbed him by the legs, and they hoisted him out of his chair. 

“You - !” 

Paying no heed to his outraged noises and flailing limbs, they thundered down the stairs, and Maglor stepped smartly aside, holding the door open. Caranthir was waiting by the leaf pile, the twins leaping happily about him, camera rolling. 

“Don’t you  _dare –_ ” 

“Ready?” yelled Celegorm. 

“On three!” 

“One!” 

“Two!”

“Three!” 

With each count, Maedhros and Celegorm swung Curufin back, and on three they let him fly into the depths of the pile, to wild cheers. 

“And we have lift off!” 

“What an impact! Did you see the leaves go flying?” 

“You still recording, Moryo?” 

“I think,” said Maglor, coming over to stand next to Maedhros as Curufin clawed his way out of the pile, leaves clinging to his hair, his face livid. “That we’re even for the whole shower incident now, Curvo.”

“Run,” said Celegorm warningly, seeing a light come into Curufin’s eyes. “Scatter, troops, he’s a-comin’ – Don’t stop recording, Moryo!” he yelled over his shoulder as they fled. “This shit is golden! This is the stuff holiday memories are made of! Oh  _fuck,_ he’s got me by the ankle – ” 

Nerdanel and Fëanor watched from the window as their sons dashed across the yard, sending leaf piles flying. Fëanor put his arm around Nerdanel’s shoulders, and she leaned her head against him, smiling. 

“I think the yard’s going to look even more chaotic than it did before you set them to work,” she said, as Curufin sent Celegorm headfirst into a shrubbery. 

“I don’t know,” said Fëanor, and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. “I think it looks pretty perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Oh hey look, snartha [illustrated](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/103558851698/things-i-should-be-doing-working-on) this one!


	2. Simple gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fëanorions count their blessings, I suppose. (Probably they mostly give thanks for existing in a modern AU rather than canon, amiright?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I posted this to Tumblr for Thanksgiving (sorry for the lag, AO3), despite spending my own Thanksgiving snowed in and entirely without power or running water.  
> 1\. I tried to write a sweet little DWMP Thanksgiving story and this is what happened. It’s tooth-rotting, pointless, and utterly without substance, unless you count Moryo’s mashed potatoes. In my defense, I’m snowed in, well-fed, family-engulfed, and have been drinking my uncle’s sherry, so my brain is at like 27% right now.  
> 2\. Title reveals my Quaker roots.

Fëanor peered curiously into the pot on the stove and Nerdanel whacked him with her spoon. 

“You’re micromanaging, you vulture.” 

“I wasn’t! I was just seeing what was the source of that delicious smell…” 

“Nice try. You were intending to meddle in the stuffing.” 

Fëanor dropped the pretense and scowled. “I’m only checking because last year you forgot the tamari roasted walnuts.” 

“I didn’t forget them, I was experimenting with adding sausage and they didn’t work together – ” 

“ – who wants sausage in their stuffing? I’m saying – ” 

 

Meanwhile, in the living room, a tumult was breaking out. 

“What the hell is that?” 

“It’s my portable turntable.” 

“We have a very expensive sound system, you fuckin’ hipster, why do you need some ancient machine to play your dumb music?” 

There was a patient sigh from Maglor. “Okay, one, this machine is brand new, and for the record – hah, no pun intended – vinyl sales have increased three hundred percent over the last five years; this technology is  _anything_  but archaic. And  _also_ , I can’t play my music on this sound system because I  _only_  have it on vinyl. You philistine.” 

“Ooh, big words from a little man.” 

“WE ARE THE SAME HEIGHT.” 

“Only literally. In all other senses, I am way bigger than you.” 

Defiantly, Maglor dropped the needle into the track and Celegorm made a face. “When you play your depressing soundtrack I can’t hear the game.” 

“Watching football on Thanksgiving is gauche as hell.” 

“It’s tradition, man! I bet the  _pilgrims_  watched football at the first Thanksgiving, to commemorate, I dunno – ” 

“Not dying of starvation? The beginning of many years of cheerful genocide?” Maedhros came into the living room from outside, wrapped in an old jacket of Fëanor’s and huge, hand-knitted scarf, his hair dusted with snow. “But well done incorporating football into the Thanksgiving story, Tyelko.” He shook his head, sending snow flying, and both Celegorm and Maglor ducked, making complaining noises as drops of ice water struck them. “It’s started to come down pretty hard.” 

“Has it?” Fëanor came into the living room and looked out the bay window, a little concerned. The snow was only just starting to stick, but it was already falling fast and heavy. “Has anyone heard from Curvo? He should be back by now.” 

“I texted him,” said Amrod, who was lying on the couch upside down, his legs stretched up against the wall. “I wanted him to bring home some videos.” 

“And?” 

“And he told me to look up the word ‘internet’ and associated phrases ‘Netflix’ and ‘instant streaming’ and that video stores were an anachronistic relic of the distant past.” 

Fëanor looked at him. “…but did he say if he was on his way back?” 

“Right, well, it turned out he wouldn’t go to the video store because he’d already passed it, he just wanted to be a dick about it first. So he’s on his way up the hill now.” 

“He’s such a weirdo.” Amras, unable to find a space on the couch between Amrod and Celegorm, settled for spreading himself across both of their laps. “Who works on a research paper on Thanksgiving day?” 

“And who’s so rude as to say our house is ‘not conducive for work’ because of ‘the influx of hooligans’?” Amrod wrinkled his nose at his brother’s feet. “Pityo, get your stinky socks out of my face.” 

Amras waved his feet unconcernedly. “Yum. Sock odor.” 

Celegorm winced and shifted as Amras crossed his arms behind his head, digging bony elbows into Celegorm’s stomach. “Jesus. You two need to fatten up this Thanksgiving. I swear to god you’re as pointy as if you had no skin on at all.” 

“Gross,” said Amrod, as Amras said, “Cool! Like, skinless animated corpses? Would we still have any meat or would it just be bone? What would keep our blood from dribbling every– ” 

“Oh look, Curvo’s home,” said Maglor hastily, as Maedhros looked revolted.

Curufin came into the house, stomping snow from his boots, color high on his cheeks from the cold. He dropped his heavy bag to the ground with a thud and tossed the car keys onto the end table. 

“How was studying?” 

“Intermittent.” Curufin ran a hand through his hair to dislodge some errant snowflakes. “When will people learn that someone with an open laptop in front of them – wearing headphones, no less – is  _not_  in the mood to be approached?” 

“Who approached you?” Celegorm extricated himself from the couch, letting Amras drop heavily to the cushions. “CIA recruiters?”

“No,” said Maglor shrewdly. “People with a more carnal intent, I expect.”

Fëanor raised his eyebrows. “Is that true?” 

“Yes.” Curufin scowled. “Two girls – one from my mechatronics glass, she wears her hair in dreadlocks,  _ugh_  – and one positively foul looking man with,” and here he looked truly disgusted, “a  _beard_.” 

Fëanor looked thunderous. “Some older man was approaching you?” 

Curufin shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, he was probably Makalaurë’s age. I pretended I couldn’t hear him and then accidentally dropped my physics textbook on his foot.” 

“This is highly inappropriate,” said Fëanor darkly. “Strangers approaching a nineteen year old kid – He’s far too young for any – ” 

All six of Curufin’s brothers rolled their eyes. 

“He’s an adult, dad.” 

“I’ve been dating since I was sixteen, he’ll be  _fine_.” 

“I’ve been dating since I was  _fourteen_ , y’all are prudes.” 

“I date,” said Amras vaguely, and rolled off the couch when everyone turned to look at him. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” said Curufin impatiently, “the point is, there should be cafes that explicitly advertise a no-flirting policy.” 

“That would be  _such_  a success,” said Maglor. “As if 60% of our business at Cuiviénen isn’t people trawling for coffee shop ass. As if  80% of our tips aren’t from people with a barista fetish…” 

“People these days are too fixated on sex,” said Fëanor decisively, just as Nerdanel passed behind him and swatted him lightly on the backside. 

“Get your glorious ass back into the kitchen and start basting the turkey,” she said cheerfully. “Atarinkë, beloved, hide that bag from sight; I won’t have any more work done in this house until you’re all thoroughly incapacitated by tryptophan.”

 

-

 

Outside, the snow had turned the landscape white and silent and still, and inside, all was warm and rich-smelling and chaotic. 

The table was laden with so much food that it seemed amazing that it was standing at all. As per tradition, each member of the family had provided at least one part of the meal (with Fëanor and Nerdanel making up any deficit.) Maedhros had made the cranberry sauce, while Maglor had proudly presented a dish of quinoa casserole with green beans (this was being studiously ignored by about half the table.) Caranthir had beaten a dish of potatoes into such submission that they were somewhere beyond ‘mashed’ and well into the realm of ‘abused’. Curufin had made the gravy, with much adjusting of temperatures and adding of ingredients to get the consistency right, and a fair amount of snapping at anyone who tried to look over his shoulder as he stirred. The twins’ contribution was waiting on the counter for dessert – they had inadvertently tripled the pumpkin pie recipe and created enough custard for three overflowing pie shells. Celegorm’s part of the meal lay in honor on the opposite end of the table from the massive turkey – a small, golden-roasted pheasant that he had bagged the previous weekend. 

Nerdanel delicately picked a piece of birdshot out of her plate and smiled across the table at Celegorm. “Thank you for literally hunting and gathering for us, Tyelko. The bird is delicious.” 

“I didn’t even know you had a permit,” said Fëanor, examining his own pheasant with interest. “But it’s certainly nice having a mix of poultry on the table.” 

“Yeah, well, if I get to shoot something, it’s all good,” said Celegorm, digging into his potatoes with relish. “The fact that it’s food is just a co-benefit.” 

“I thought the co-benefit was a romantic date killing things with your boyfr-” Caranthir began, and broke off with a curse as Celegorm upended the gravy boat into his lap. 

“Whoa, man, how clumsy,” said Celegorm loudly. “Lemme help you with that, you little nipper.” He attacked Caranthir with a napkin and soon Caranthir was too preoccupied with trying to fight him off to finish whatever he was going to say.

“Stop wasting the gravy,” said Curufin, shielding his plate from the kerfuffle as Caranthir kicked ferociously at Celegorm. “I spent hours on that. And stop jostling my plate.” 

“Why, you afraid we’re going to make the potatoes touch the cranberry sauce and then the whole meal will be ruined?” 

“Yes, basically.” Curufin lifted his plate out of harm’s way as Caranthir started to say something scathing to Celegorm, and Celegorm effectively stifled him by stuffing a drumstick into his mouth. “ _Honestly._ You two are a hazard to fine dining.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t delude ourselves by calling this fine dining.” Nerdanel sighed and took a long drink from her wine glass. “I’d settle for a non-combatant zone. Boys, knock it off.” 

“Moryo simply bit off more than he can chew,” Celegorm said innocently, and dove back into his plate as Caranthir shot him a furious look but said nothing. 

“I think,” said Fëanor, ignoring all this, “that we should all take a moment to say what we’re thankful for. No arguments,” he said, as several sighs rose from his sons, “it’s tradition. Nelyo, you start.” 

“Oh,” said Maedhros, self-consciously. “Um. Well. I’m…I’m thankful for…” He paused, looking embarrassed, and shot a swift look at his father. “The support of family,” he said softly. “And acceptance.” 

Fëanor met his gaze across the table, and his eyes softened at the open gratitude in his son’s face. “Cheers,” was all he said, quietly, and the rest of the family echoed him, raising their glasses. 

“Me?” Maglor twirled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. “I’m thankful for the resurgence of vinyl, and for the fact that Moryo finally learned to cook a second meal.” 

“Yeah, cheers,” said Caranthir, swigging from his wine glass. “Eggs and potatoes, man, now I can feed an army of people with no teeth. Oh, and,” he added, not looking at Maglor, “I guess I’m thankful for, uh, you.” Maglor’s eyes widened in surprise, and Caranthir quickly added, as color rose on his cheeks, “I mean, mostly I’d be thankful for, like, an unregulated free market, but we can’t have everything, right?” 

“Nice one,” said Celegorm, slapping him on the back and making him choke on his wine. “You’re cute when you’re accidentally sweet. Lessee. I’m thankful for the first round picks of the NFL draft, my frankly insane good looks, good hunting partners, and you assholes. Drink up.” 

“Cheers, Tyelko,” said Fëanor, rather wearily. “And please do watch your language.” 

“Whoops,” said Celegorm cheerfully. “Cover your ears, demons, I might have sworn lightly back there.” 

“Didn’t even notice,” said Amrod blithely, as Amras said, “He called us angels, didn’t he, dad? I didn’t hear any swears.” 

“I’m thankful for Nikola Tesla and noise-canceling headphones,” said Curufin, watching the wine in his glass as he tilted it to one side. “Now hurry up and say what you’re thankful for, Ambarussa, my food’s getting cold.” 

“Rock-climbing,” said Amras, swiftly. 

“Being better than Pityo at rock-climbing,” said Amrod, at the same time, and stuck his tongue out at his twin, who stole a biscuit from his plate in retribution. 

“And I,” said Fëanor, in a tone that cut across the sudden outbreak of whispered insults, “am grateful for the seven of you, headaches and heartache and all; I would have none of you any other way. And most especially,” he leaned over to kiss Nerdanel on the cheek, “I am grateful for you, my love, without whom none of this would be.”

“Too true,” said Nerdanel contentedly, letting herself be kissed. “I’m thankful for good wine and elastic-waisted pants, in that order. Oh yes, and,” she added, as Fëanor nudged her. “I love you all beyond reason, and it’s simply not fair that I have this many wonderful men in my life. You exhaust me beyond reason, and you are worth every wrinkle, you beautiful, terrible, perfect boys. I give thanks for you all.” 

They all raised their glasses one final time as the candles flickered and danced on the table, and outside, the snow fell on.


	3. By candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nolofinwions and Arafinwions gather together to celebrate and give each other shit, in equal measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Just in time for the last night of Hanukkah...  
> 1\. Sap, fluff, maudlin feelgood. With guest appearance by the elusive Angrod and Argon!  
> 2\. (And tune in Thursday for a very Feanorian Christmas <3)

Argon flopped weakly through the door, tripping and sprawling flat across the pile of bags he’d dropped on the floor. Fingon and Turgon stepped neatly around him, Fingon slapping him on the back as he passed. 

“I still don’t understand why I had to carry everyone’s bags,” gasped Argon, trying to catch his breath and lying limply in place. 

Turgon shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the rack by the door. “If you are told that the time we’re swinging by to pick you up is 3:30pm  _exactly_ …” 

“…and you don’t appear until 4:05,” said Aredhel, kicking Argon’s ankle as she came through the door. “Because some sweet young thing was busy smooching you in the stairwell…” 

“Then you get stuck with sherpa duties,” said Fingon cheerfully. “That’s straight up the  _rules_  of Hannukah. Pretty sure it’s codified.” 

“I can vouch,” said Aegnor, poking his head around the door to the living room. “I can’t believe we beat you here. Ingo took about fifteen years to leave campus.” 

“Forgive me for having responsibilities.” Finrod’s voice floated in from the next room. “And an advisor who needed a draft from me  _yesterday_.” 

“Your poor time management skills aren’t our problem,” said Aegnor, making a face over his shoulder. 

“So you have said. Repeatedly.” 

“At any rate,” said Aredhel, dragging the knit cap from her head and shaking out her hair, “you’re still not as bad as Arko.” 

“Thank goodness for dubious honors.” Finrod appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Good to see you again, Arakáno, I don’t think I’ve laid eyes on you since you came back from New Zealand.”

“I’ve been busy,” said Argon vaguely. 

“Busy with the ladies,” said Fingon, grinning. “Who  _was_  that?” 

“Whoever she was, she was unfazed by all the beeping and yelling,” said Turgon. “So she’s probably a good fit for you.” But he wasn’t paying much attention to the grumbling Argon, who was being poked in the ribs by Fingon and Aredhel. Instead, his eyes were seeking Finrod’s and when he met them, Finrod smiled slightly, hesitantly. Turgon lifted one shoulder helplessly, and gave a crooked smile in return. Relief flooded Finrod’s face. 

“Get in here!” called Fingolfin from the other room. “Eight nights, eight candles, eight children, and the menorah isn’t going to light itself.” 

“Unless we have another Hanukkah miracle,” said Fingon, and, wrapping one arm around Turgon and the other around Finrod, he pulled them both into the living room.

 

-

 

Some time later, the candles flickering merrily in the window, Galadriel was snuggled on the couch between Finarfin and Indis. 

“Finwë gave me that menorah our first winter together,” said Indis softly, pulling her fingers lightly through Galadriel’s hair as she watched the dancing light. “He was so pleased – I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already had a gold one from my mother. I decided we might as well use this one as a sign of...our new family.” She smiled, her eyes distant with memory. “He was so proud of himself.” 

“Ready to go down memory lane?” asked Finarfin. He’d been fiddling with a disc that he finally got loaded and pulled up on his computer. They settled back together to watch family videos of past Hanukkahs. Fingon and Aredhel came in and hung over the back of the couch to watch. 

In one video, a young Fingon, his wild curls adorned with gold foil from the Hanukkah gelt, was galloping around the room, yelling, “I am the Hanukkah fairy!” and hitting at his cousins with a cardboard tube.

Aredhel hooted. “Well, that was prophetic.” 

Fingon pulled her hair. “Careful, or the Hanukkah fairy will take back that expensive gift he bought you.” 

Aredhel smiled winningly. “…You look fetching with gold in your hair, o glorious and generous sprite.” 

“I know, right? I should bring that back.” 

In another clip, a small Aredhel was looking thunderous and an even smaller Argon was looking tearful as two benignly smiling and tow-headed Arafinwions took all of their peanuts in a cutthroat game of dreidel. 

Argon frowned. “Why weren’t we playing with gelt?” 

“We’d taken all your gelt already,” murmured Finrod, who was reclining in an armchair. Turgon was leaning against his legs on the floor, already absorbed in the book Anairë had given him:  _Isolationist Policies in China During the Ming Dynasty_. “All you had left were peanuts.” 

On the screen, Galadriel swooped the last of Argon’s peanuts away, and Argon burst into tears. 

“Classic holiday memories,” said Aegnor, coming into the room and sitting down at Galadriel’s feet. “Me ‘n’ Angaráto staged a coup one year to overthrow the monopoly those two had on the game.”

“Turned out they were playing with a rigged dreidel,” said Angrod, coming into the room with a beer. He’d flown in from Telluride that morning, and his mother and aunt had had him cornered in the kitchen for the past hour. His dark blond hair was overlong and falling in his eyes, and his cheeks were already brown and cold-burned from his goggle tan. He wore a sweatshirt that read ‘SKI HIGH: COLORADO’. He leaned up next to Aegnor now, who stole his beer, and poked his father in the head. “Uncle Nolvo is demanding your help with the latkes.” 

“Coming,” said Finarfin, hastily rising from the couch and almost tripping over Aredhel, who was busy examining her new crampons with delight. 

“I can’t wait to show Tyelko; he’s gonna be  _green_  if he doesn’t get his own pair. His list consisted of three things: these crampons, a bottle of Johnny Walker, and something I can’t say in mixed company. HAH, and to think he was giving me shit about my weak gear game the other day. I shall go ice climbing without him and he’ll be sorry.” 

“Those look lethal.” Aegnor drained the rest of Angrod’s beer. “Are they for crushing those who scorn you?” 

“Yeah, basically.” 

Indis’ eyes were still fixed on the screen, where Angrod and Aegnor, dressed as tiny Maccabee warriors, were waging war against Fingon and Finrod, who were gamely arrayed as Greeks and trying to look oppressive as Angrod and Aegnor roared and hit them enthusiastically with whiffle bats. 

“Look at you little things,” she murmured. “How fast the time goes…”

“We cause less damage now,” said Galadriel. She thought about this for a moment. “Well, less property damage. Probably.” 

Indis smiled down at her. “My sweet child. How are your studies?” 

“My studies are good, Bubbe.” 

“Of course they are; you have your father’s brains. Are you seeing that long-haired boy with the feathered headband I met last summer?”” 

“Yes. Celeborn is good, too.” 

Indis looked like she was looking for a kind thing to say. “He always seemed…like a creative young man.” 

Finrod chuckled, moving his legs slightly to keep them from falling asleep. Turgon shifted but didn’t look up, still deep in his book. “He is very creative, Bubbe. Why, he made the skirt that Artanis is wearing.” 

Indis’ eyebrows raised. “Did he? My goodness. He sounds just like that child of Fëanor’s…the one who was always getting into Nerdanel’s embroidery kit.” 

“Carnistir,” said Finrod, softly. 

“Is that the one who looks like Fëanaro, in miniature?”

“No.” Finrod glanced down, like he was reading over Turgon’s shoulder, but his eyes remained fixed. “You’re thinking of Curufinwë.” 

“So many sons.” Indis shook her head. “Poor Nerdanel, without a single daughter to keep her sane.” 

“I’ve always thought that,” said Galadriel. She smoothed her skirt over her legs and looked at her oldest brother curiously for a moment, before getting up. “I’m going to help dad and Uncle Nolvo with the latkes.” 

As she spoke, there was an exclamation from the kitchen, and Fingolfin’s voice called out, tinged with laughter, “Is there a doctor in the house? You idiot, Arfin, you’re supposed to grate the potatoes, not your knuckles…” 

Anairë and Eärwen convened on the kitchen, Eärwen with gauze and Anairë with a bottle of wine under one arm. “Can’t leave you two alone for a minute, can we?” 

Galadriel hesitated. “Maybe I’ll wait.” 

“Come sit with me and admire my gear,” said Aredhel, rattling her crampons enticingly. 

Over the card table, Fingon, Argon, Aegnor and Angrod were starting up a game of beer dreidel, taking drinks instead of peanuts. Finrod was leaning against Turgon as they read together now, every once in a while their voices mingling as Turgon pointed to something in the text and Finrod responded. Aredhel and Galadriel had their heads together, and Aredhel’s ringing, infectious laugh carried easily over the murmur of voices. 

Indis alone sat on the couch now as her grandchildren filled the warm room with chatter and movement. On the screen, their younger selves echoed their merriment in tiny, tinny voices, cavorting around the same living room. In the window, the candles burned low. Indis lifted her face, closing her eyes, the flames dancing still behind her closed eyelids.

_You would have loved to see them here like this._

Her fingers interlaced on her lap, the gold of her wedding band shining as bright as it had the first time it was slipped onto her finger. 

_I feel you here, tonight._  

The front door opened, and voices cried out in welcome as cold air rushed in. 

“Lalwendë!”

“Little sister! Always fashionably late, aren’t you?” 

Indis smiled, her eyes still closed.

_How lucky I am._

_How lucky we have been, my love._

 

 


	4. Oh, the rising of the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fëanorions observe their annual Christmas tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I riffed with snartha ages ago on the hilarity of Fëanorian Christmas sweaters and the annual family Christmas portrait – it deserved to eventually be written. (And [Celegorm and Curufin's sweaters](http://silmarillle.tumblr.com/post/106139084747/merry-christmas-tumblr-i-drew-these-elves-in) are thanks to Silje, for the record.)  
> 1\. Merry Christmas!

“Tyelko…” Fëanor frowned as he handed Celegorm a glass of eggnog. “…that’s last year’s sweater. I distinctly remember the comment you made about the ‘super gay reindeer’. What happened to this year’s sweater? We sent it to you weeks ago. I was bracing myself for whatever sophisticated commentary you would have on it.” 

Celegorm pulled what Curufin was fond of calling his ‘dumb, clueless jock’ look onto his face. “No shit, really? I was packing and I grabbed this one because I thought it looked like new. You’re telling me there was another? Huh. Maybe it got lost in the mail?” 

“Yes,” murmured Curufin, absorbed in his book. He was wearing a charcoal grey, cable-knit sweater with a sprig of holly pinned to the collar – his only concession to the season. “Or maybe it was because you wore the other one to an ugly sweater rager last weekend and lost it in a game of strip beer pong…” 

“Shut up, punk,” said Celegorm, out of the corner of his mouth. 

Fëanor sighed deeply. “That has to be at least two sizes too small for you.” 

Celegorm looked down at himself. The reindeer in question were stretched tight over his chest, and when he shrugged, the seams across his shoulders creaked alarmingly. “Whoops.” 

“A lot thinner last Christmas, weren’t you? Fatty.” 

Celegorm sneered at his little brother. “This is pure muscle, you stringy piece of gristle.” 

“Meathead.” 

“You and four like you couldn’t take me.” 

“Why, Tyelko, what a handsome wristwatch! Where on earth did you get it?” Curufin widened his eyes innocently as Celegorm glanced down at his wrist, guilt coloring his face. 

Fëanor looked, too. “Hm. That is a very nice timepiece. Surely you couldn’t have afforded that yourself. Unless…you have a job and didn’t tell me?” He looked hopeful.

Celegorm tugged down his sleeves uncomfortably, and shot a swift, irritated look at Curufin. “Naw.” 

“Someone gave it to you?” 

“I stole it?” suggested Celegorm. 

Curufin rolled his eyes and seemed to decide to take pity on his brother. “Tyelko is trying to avoid telling you that Irissë gave it to him for Hanukkah.” 

“Ah.” Fëanor’s expression grew a little sterner. “You don’t need to hide such things from me. I have…no problem with you being friends with members of that family.” It sounded like the words came out with effort. “Your…brother is, after all, living with…Anyway.” A thought seemed to strike him, and he looked briefly alarmed. “Was this a friendly gift, or a token of affection? I have had my suspicions, in the past, of something going on between you two…” 

“Oh my god, dad.” Celegorm dropped down on the couch next to Curufin, who wrinkled his nose at the proximity of eggnog. “ _No_. Ireth and I aren’t dating, honest.”

“Good. I mean. Hem. I see.” Fëanor looked like he was working to rearrange his face into that of a supportive father but his relief was too apparent. “At any rate, try to keep from popping out of your sweater before we get this year’s photo taken. I’ll go round up your brothers.” 

“Yes, don’t worry, father,” murmured Curufin. “Tyelko would never date anyone you’d find objectionable, oh  _no_ …” 

As soon as Fëanor had left, Celegorm set his eggnog down, plucked the book from Curufin’s hands, and set to work trying to crush him to death. 

“You little shitnugget, why do you fuck with me like that?” 

“I gave you a cover story!” gasped Curufin, as Celegorm pushed him down into the couch cushions. “Come  _on_ , Tyelko, I saved your ass.” 

“You put it in jeopardy in the first place, you fucker! Why’d you have to bring up the watch?” 

“Why’d you wear it here? Mom or dad would be BOUND to comment on something that nice.” 

“I forgot, okay, and also, I…don’t like taking it off.” Celegorm turned red, and covered the moment by pinning down Curufin’s arms as Curufin attempted to swipe at him. 

“Oh, how sweet. Did he have it engraved it for you?”

“He did, as a matter of fact – Argh, you are such an asshole, why do you keep trying to undermine me?” 

“Because it’s fun.” 

“At least he’s being honest.” Maglor came into the room, wearing a Santa hat and an expression of resignation. Maedhros was hanging onto his shoulder and appeared to be in the middle of a fit of giggles. 

Celegorm released Curufin and sat up, eyeing Maedhros. “What’s  _his_  deal?” 

“He’s drunk.” Maglor sighed and deposited Maedhros onto the couch. 

Curufin straightened up, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and tugging his sweater even. “Good lord, this family.” 

“I’m not drunk!” protested Maedhros. “I’ve just had a  _bit_  to drink.”

“I made the mistake of lending him my flask.” Maglor folded his legs and dropped down to the floor. “And he’s been doing a shot every time someone asks him about his future.” 

“Or when I’m getting a real job,” said Maedhros, and giggled again. 

Celegorm and Curufin exchanged glances. “Is that funny?” 

“No, my life is a mess,” said Maedhros, and buried his face in the arm of the couch. The lights on his sweater blinked feebly.  _  
_

“I should get in on this game,” said Celegorm, “except that no one asks me because everyone just _assumes_  I’m unemployed.” 

“Accurately, as it turns out.”

“I should just do a shot every time you’re a backstabbing little fuckhead.” 

“Careful, if you get drunk you’ll be even worse at this pitiful subtlety you’re attempting.” 

“Are we getting drunk? I want in.” Caranthir sloped into the room, scowling thunderously, in sharp contrast with the massive, grinning snowman appliqued on his sweater. “This is such a fucking stupid tradition.” 

“Don’t let mom hear you say that.” 

“Don’t let  _dad_  hear you say that.” 

Caranthir shot a nervous look over his shoulder. “Who’s got the booze?”

“Not me, for once.” Celegorm crossed his arms over his chest. His sweater gave another protesting creak and he quickly uncrossed them again. “Hit up Nelyo.” 

Maedhros sat up agreeably and pulled a flask out of his pocket. He opened it and peered in. “Ooh. Oops.” He turned it upside down and pulled a sad face. “It’s all gone.” 

“Dammit, Maitimo. That was good scotch!” 

Maedhros looked mournful. “I am sorry.” 

“No,  _I’m_  sorry,” said Caranthir. He picked angrily at the gigantic, 3d carrot on his sweater. “This is the second way you’ve fucked me over today, Mae. This was gonna be YOUR sweater until Ma decided the orange would clash with your hair!” 

“Oh, dear,” said Maedhros in tones of sorrow, pulling his knees in to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Should it take a thousand years, I shall try and right this wrong I have done you, Moryo.” 

“Oh my god.” Caranthir stared accusingly at Maglor. “What was  _in_ that scotch?” 

Maglor was watching Maedhros, impressed. “I don’t know, but now I’m really sad it’s gone.” 

“My little Christmas elves!”

All five of them jumped and looked up as Nerdanel came in, wrapped in white angora, her cheeks almost as bright as her hair. 

“Hey, Ma.” 

“Thanks for the sweaters, Ma.” 

Nerdanel counted them swiftly, as Fëanor came in behind her. “But where are the little chickens? We’re two short for the picture.” 

Two heads popped from behind the prodigious Christmas tree that took up most of the far corner of the room. Maedhros looked amazed, and Celegorm swore loudly. 

“How long have you two been hiding there?” 

“Since you came in,” said Amras, grinning.

“Just listening,” said Amrod, sticking a half-sucked candy cane behind his ear.

“And what did you hear?” asked Nerdanel, curiously. 

“Mae’s drunk,” said Amras. “And unemployed.” 

“Shhhh,” said Maedhros. “That’s…calumny.”

“Plus Moryo thinks this is a dumb tradition."

"I  _never_."

"And Tyelko has a new watch and it’s engraved. By a ‘he’- ”

“C’mere,” said Celegorm loudly, wrapping friendly arms around the twins’ throats and tightening his grip until they sputtered into silence. “We gonna get this picture taken or what? Someone prop up Nelyo.” 

“Yes,” said Fëanor, getting behind the tripod, as his sons shuffled together on the couch, Celegorm still with a death grip on the twins, who were chortling under his arms. Curufin and Caranthir ended up wedged together and shot each other swift glances before quickly looking away. 

“Arms around each other!” called Nerdanel, merrily. 

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” said Curufin, examining his nails. 

“Oh, come on,” muttered Caranthir. He put a light arm over Curufin’s shoulders. Curufin froze. “You can go back to being disgusted by me after, ‘k?” 

“Reindeer antlers on,” ordered Fëanor, hands on his hips, giving them a once over with a jaundiced eye. “Duck down some, Nelyo. Now: smile!”

They did.


	5. It must have been the mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new tradition in the Feanorion household; Finrod isn't sure how to feel about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Haven't updated this series in a while, have I? Been too rushed for more holiday updates, but here's a tiny thing based on a [post](http://cinaed.tumblr.com/post/135094566454/fun-christmas-idea) I saw on Tumblr. Thanks, cinaed!

Finrod stepped through the front door, rubbing his cold hands together. “I can’t believe I left my gloves at home.”

“That was stupid,” said Curufin, closing the door behind him. “Very short-sighted of you.”

“I missed you, too.” Finrod smiled at Curufin. “Gosh,  _you_  look warm.”

“Of course I am, because I haven’t left the house today, and I am wearing long underwear and – What are you doing? Oh my god, get OFF.” Curufin flailed as Finrod stepped close and slid his cold hands under Curufin’s shirt. “No no no no – ”

“SO much better than gloves,” said Finrod happily, as Curufin protested but didn’t actually pull away. “And, oh, look,” he glanced up, his eyes sparkling. “There’s even some mistletoe above us.”

Curufin glanced up at the dangling berries and greens. “Oh, god.”

“ _Oh god_? Is the prospect of a kiss from me so dire?” Finrod looked wounded.

“No, it’s not that. But it’s – that’s not mistletoe.”

Finrod looked upwards again. “Um. It looks like it to me.”

“Tyelko put it up,” said Curufin resignedly. “It’s mistle _foe_.”

“Mistle – ”

“WHAT’S THIS IN MY FOYER?” Celegorm thundered down the stairs and Curufin immediately stepped out from under the greens, pulling back from Finrod.

“Curvo?” Finrod stayed where he was, looking perplexed. “Um, hello Tyel- what are you – oh no. OOF.”

Celegorm plowed into him, bearing him down to the ground.

Finrod squirmed desperately. “I beg of you, Tyelkormo, do not kiss me.”

“That’s not what one does beneath mistlefoe,” said Celegorm cheerfully, pinning him down.

“What does one do beneath mistlefoe?” Finrod’s expression hinted that he had some guesses, and none were good.

“One  _fights_.”

As the tumult started, Curufin sat down at the kitchen table and began turning the pages of the WIRED he’d laid down to answer the door. “Let me know when you’re done with him,” he said absently. “And if his hands have gotten any warmer.”

“Ouch,” came Celegorm’s voice from the front hall. “No teeth, Ingo, you batshit weirdo. Okay,  _now_  you asked for it.”

“God bless us, every one,” murmured Curufin, and buried his nose in his magazine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Now with a fabulous [illustration](http://shackal-jackal.tumblr.com/post/154762764366/in-english-tyelko-put-it-up-said-curufin) by shackal-jackal!


	6. As sharp as any thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finwions celebrate, even when celebration doesn't come easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Merry Christmas! This story serves as a direct follow-up to yesterday’s chapter, and my attempt to apologize for the angst. However, because there’s only so much I can fix and stay within the ongoing arc of DWMP, there is still a wee bit of angst herein. To compensate, I have added some sentimental nonsense as well, and the result may be a mess, which as far as I’m concerned, is what the holidays are all about. LET US BE SLOPPY DRUNK SAD SAPPY HAPPY MESSES TOGETHER.  
> 1\. Warnings for consumption of alcohol, some sadness, and a story that will be confusing if you haven’t read the most recent chapter of DWMP. Some gross fluff too.  
> 0\. This is basically within a day or two of chapter 70.

 “ _God rest ye merry gentlemen_ – ”

“ _– let nothing you dismay_!”

“ _Remember_ _Christ our_ – I always feel weird singing about Christ, honestly.”

“Oh, that rascally Jesus. Always getting in the way of a good Christmas song.”

“Right?”

“You can leave him out, but keep going, we had almost started one entire song.”

“Right. _Remember all the… boozy booze we drink upon this day…”_

Turgon refilled his mug and took a sip before continuing to sing.  “ _To save us all from…sobriety, when we were gone astray – o-o-ohhh tiiidings of comfort and joy – ”_

_“Comfort and joy!”_

_“o-O-O-o-h tiidings of co-o-o-mfort and joy.”_

They got through three more verses before their creativity ran low, and then a beeping came from Bëor’s wrist as his watch struck the hour. Bëor drained his mug, wiped the back of his hand over his beard, and clapped Turgon and Finrod on the back. “All right, my sweets. I’m off to work.”

Finrod and Turgon made simultaneous groaning noises of protest, but Bëor just blew them an extravagant kiss and stomped twice to get his heels into his work boots. Then he pulled his wool hat over his ears, wrapped himself in his carhartt, and vanished through the door with a wave.

Finrod sighed. Turgon poured more rum into each of their glasses.

“We shall have to go to our families soon.”

“Yep.”

“I shall have to face all my mother’s WASP relatives in their preppy sweaters.”

“Ingo, you blond, angel-faced gremlin, you are literally wearing a powder blue cable knit _right now_.”

“Just because I fit the part doesn’t mean I like playing it all the time.” Finrod propped his head on his hand and stuck his tongue absently into his mug. “I wish I could stay around here and be supportive, or something. It’s sort of a tough holiday with everything that’s going on.”

“Yep.”

“Pityo in the hospital.”

“Yep. And what’s more, your dad now knows about your boyfriend.” Turgon suppressed a burp and sucked on the end of a cinnamon stick. “Which means he’s going to ask you lots of Thoughtful Questions about him.”

“I like thoughtful questions.”

“ ‘Do you have long term plans, Ingoldo? You will be looking for a post-doc soon, what if academia takes you away from Beleriand? Your young man won’t graduate from college for another two years. Does he want to pursue post-graduate education? Where will he be? Have you considered long distance? Would you relocate for him? What about – ’ ”

There was a scuffle, and Turgon ended up on the floor. “On the whole,” said Finrod, stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes on the stool from which he’d just kicked Turgon, “I think perhaps conversation will be rather occupied with our injured cousin and my brother’s impending nuptials. Don’t you?”

“Ow,” said Turgon from the floor.

“I have two hours before Artanis and Aikanáro pick me up,” said Finrod, checking his watch. “Let’s go to Ulmo’s. And kindly _never_ do your impression of my father ever again.”

 

\---

 

In the dim warmth of the bar, Ulmo poured out two shots and raised the bottle in silent salute as Turgon and Finrod downed them. “Haven’t seen you two in while,” he said in his soft, slow voice as he set the bottle down. “Need less of my advice lately, hey?”

“Hah,” said Turgon, wiping at his watering eyes and setting down his empty glass. “If I could install you as an app I could carry around to classes with me, I would.”

“Ditto,” said Finrod, setting down his glass as well, his own eyes clear and his expression pensive. “The number of times I wished I could have called on you in the moment for advice… But listen, Turno, for all we could all use a pocket Ulmo, I would hazard to say that the two of us are in less dire straits than we were this time last year.”

“How so?” Ulmo poured them two more drinks.

Finrod looked at Turgon, who looked back at him. “Do you want to go first?”

“You wish,” said Turgon, sipping his drink through the stir straw. “Let’s start with you. Tell him all about how this time last year you were a double-timing, brother-banging, low-down dog…”

“Not _my_ brothers,” said Finrod hastily, as Ulmo’s bushy eyebrows shot skyward. “For the banging. Two, um, brothers not related to me. Well. Related for a given value of ‘related’. They are my cousins. But related mostly each other, not to me? And as for ‘banging’…”

“Yes, you are making it much better,” said Turgon cheerfully. “But anyway, last year: hot mess. This year – apart from the day drinking we’re currently engaged in – you are well-behaved and healthy-ish and committed and happy, as far as I can tell.”

Ulmo looked at Finrod for confirmation, and Finrod smiled, a beautiful, genuine smile. “Well. That is actually…that is actually true.” He looked surprised for a moment, still smiling, and then clinked his glass against Turgon’s. “And you, Turno – You too are in a better place, yes? Having healed a broken heart in the past year, you are now with someone I know for a fact is truly worthy of you. A rare person, that.”

Turgon smiled too, his serious face lighting up. “Yeah, how about that?”

They both subsided into their drinks for a while, grinning at their stir sticks while Ulmo busied himself with the taps. “And how about school?” he rumbled, after a while.

Turgon and Finrod’s smiles immediately dissolved into expressions of outrage.

“UGH.”

“Boo!”

“No. Hush. Stop immediately.”

Both Turgon and Finrod started pelting Ulmo with bits of rolled up napkin and ice from their drinks.

“That topic is off limits!”

“How dare you? In the midst of our happiness!”

“On this, a holiday.”

“Scoundrel.”

“Devil.”

“Traitor.”

Ulmo just ducked the projectiles and started wiping down glasses, beautifully unflustered by their indignation. “Say, Felagund, isn’t that your sister?”

“Hah hah.”

“I’m serious.”

“What?” Finrod looked around.

Three women had entered the bar, arms around each other, two of them more or less being propped up by the third, who was laughing at them. It was Galadriel, Amarië, and Andreth.

“Uh oh,” said Finrod, slipping sideways on his barstool. “Hide me, Turno.”

“Nope.”

“Hide me, Ulmo.”

Ulmo didn’t stop wiping the glass he was holding, but he stepped slightly to the side to let Finrod slide over the bar and drop down on the other side. He glanced down, his eyes glittering in amusement as Finrod settled against his legs.

“And this is the adult move, is it, son?”

“I’m too drunk to be adult,” said Finrod, looping his arms around his shins. “Also too drunk to face my sister, my ex-girlfriend, and Andreth-who-has-no-reason-to-be-a-fan-of-me. Hand me a cherry, won’t you, padre?”

Ulmo dropped a maraschino cheery below the bar as Galadriel drifted up to the counter.

“Hello, Turukáno. Hello, Ulmo. Happy New Year.” She hoisted herself up on the bar and looked over it. “Hello, Findaráto.”

Finrod tried to look dignified from where he was crouched on the sticky floor. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be driving me home in an hour.”

“Aiko and I flipped for DD, and he lost.” Galadriel picked a curl of orange peel out of Finrod’s hair as he straightened up, abandoning the attempt to hide. “Also, he’s going to show up here early and meet Andreth in the bathroom while I pretend not to know what’s going on.” She shook her head. “The pretense of them being a secret is wearing rather thin, but I play along for her sake.”

“There’s nothing like feeling you’re participating in something covert to stimulate the libido,” said Finrod wisely, getting to his feet and leaning up against the bar by Ulmo. He took a rag to clean some glasses himself.

“Well, you of all people would know,” said Galadriel, while Turgon shook his head.

“You walked right into that one, Ingo.”

Finrod ignored them both serenely. “Who wants a shot?”

Amarië and Andreth, who’d been over by the jukebox selecting a line-up of songs, posted up to the bar beside Galadriel.

“Look who it is! The golden goose.”

“Hello, Findaráto.” Amarië gave Finrod a genuine smile and then turned to Turgon, who greeted her enthusiastically.

Andreth gave Finrod a sharp smile as she spun a candy cane between her fingers. “So.”

“So,” said Finrod cautiously.

Andreth stared at him another beat, and then her sardonic smile turned into a broad grin. “Wanna help me decorate the Christmas Artanis?”

“Pardon?” Finrod blinked in confusion, and then took in the fact that Galadriel’s long hair was currently sporting three Christmas baubles and a candy cane. “Ah, very festive.”

“I couldn’t get a tree this year,” said Andreth, propping her chin on her hands and draping a bit of tinsel over Galadriel’s ear, “but then I realized, hey, your sister is about the right height, and with her hair, we don’t even need to bother with lights.”

“I don’t have any ornaments on me,” said Turgon, searching his pockets. “Is a cocktail onion in the spirit of the season?”

“No perishables,” said Galadriel, holding still as Andreth adjusted the tinsel again. “We established that after the gingerbread incident.”

“And we brought extras,” said Amarië happily, upending her purse on the bar. “Look, we have sled ornament, Santa ornament, lobster ornament…”

Turgon and Finrod bent over the collection, picking through it with interest. “Oooh, Thomas the Tank Engine!”

“You might want to hang that on an ear, it’s heavy.”

“You are all,” said Galadriel, as Finrod and Turgon crowded round and Amarië started work on a load-bearing braid, “buying me drinks through the night for this.”

 

\---

 

The sound of muffled singing from within spilled out onto the street, but other than causing Maglor to grimace at the pitch, it did nothing to allay the worried expression on his face.

“Is it…not okay to do this?” Maglor twisted his fingers together as they approached the entrance. “I feel...sleazy.”

“You going to a dive bar isn’t sleazy,” said Celegorm, yanking his hat off and shaking out his hair as he stepped through the door. “Remember, bro, it’s your hair, clothes, and personality that make you sleazy.”

Maglor looked at him wearily, slipping out of his coat as he followed him into the bar. “I _meant_ that us getting drunk while our brother is in the hospital feels incredibly tacky.”

“Yeah, maybe it is.” Celegorm shrugged. “But ‘tacky’ has never scared me off before. I need a fucking drink, I need a fucking break, and I don’t think Pityo would begrudge us some cheer. And hey, look who beat us here. Too bad Curvo didn’t take me up on that fake, huh?” He waved sardonically at Finrod, who spotted them and immediately stopped singing to hurry over.

“I’m so glad to see you all,” he said without preamble, and hugged Caranthir swiftly before he could duck past. “Merry Christmas, how are you doing?”

“About like you’d guess,” said Celegorm, sticking his hands in his pockets and eyeing the bar. “Anything good on tap?”

“Try the imperial stout if you want good beer, or vodka if you just want to get drunk.”

“Cheers.”

Caranthir extricated himself carefully and squinted past Finrod. “Is that Galadriel covered in Christmas lights?”

“She is our volunteer tannenbaum,” said Finrod, stepping back him and reaching out to clasp Maglor’s hand.

“Fascinating,” said Maglor, as Turgon wandered over, looking uncomfortable, and nodded awkwardly at them all. “She doesn’t even need lighting, she practically glows.”

“I know, right?” Finrod’s eyes shone in the darkness. “We saved the star for one of you to put on top, because, well, you deserve a bit of festive cheer. And once we’ve gotten you a couple drinks, and decked Artanis, we’re going to pick up your underage brother – yes, I know he dodged coming here – and then we are going on a small holiday trek…”

 

\---

 

The apartment at 455 Hithlum Ave NW was dark but for the warm glow in the corner, which came from a small tree draped in an excess of Christmas lights. It was the first thing Maedhros’ eyes lit on as he stepped through the door, and then they flickered to Fingon. Fingon rose from where he’d been waiting on the coach and went to him without a word, pulling him into a swift embrace.

Maedhros let out a long breath through his nose, tucking his head against Fingon’s neck, and Fingon stroked his hair and murmured, “Welcome home, love.”

“Merry Christmas,” said Maedhros, and his voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat. “Merry Christmas.”

They stood together in silence, in the darkness, their skin turned odd colors by the lights, the scent of fresh pine in their noses.

“Do you remember,” said Maedhros, after a long pause, “the first Christmas we were together?”

“Vaguely,” said Fingon, absently pulling Maedhros’ hair from its ponytail. “I remember there was a lot of drinking.”

Maedhros smiled, and pulled back, resting his chin on Fingon’s head as he stared out the dark window, his eyes lit by the glow of the Christmas tree. “Yes, Az and Makalaurë and I were hosting a Christmas party, weren’t we? But it was actually all just an excuse to invite you over – ”

“As if you needed an excuse,” Fingon snorted, tightening his arms around Maedhros’ waist. “You could have told me your sweater had a loose thread and I would have been on your doorstep in under five minutes, probably naked.”

“Well, I know that _now_. At any rate, I contrived to throw this party, and you came over, and the moment you walked in I realized that all our decorations were pointless, because you lit up the room more than all the lights and baubles we could have filled the house with.”

Fingon tilted his head back until he could look Maedhros in the eye. “Beloved,” he said, tenderly, “It is very good you are planning on teaching math instead of writing poetry for a living, because you are the cheesiest, _lamest_ – ”

“Shh. So you came in, all aglow, all ‘an angel of the lord came down’ – ”

“Oh my god, Maitimo.”

“ – and Makalaurë stepped on my foot because my mouth was open, and Azaghâl took my drink out of my hand because I was spilling it, and then I just sort of floated across the room to you, and there was mistletoe, because of course there was, I’d hung it myself, strategically, and I bent down…”

“Right as your idiot high school brother came barreling out of nowhere and kissed me instead. And that was the first time I got slipped the tongue by dear old Tyelkormo. Ho ho ho.”

“Yes. The bastard. And then I tried to kill him.”

“Yes, that took a while. And when you were done…”

“When I was done, I found you again, and you were looking totally unfazed, having a beer with Makalaurë, and I took your hand – ”

“ – and Makalaurë took the opportunity to put tinsel in your hair.”

“Yes. And then I slipped you into the laundry room, and you were laughing, and you reached up to pull the tinsel out of my hair, and put it in your hair instead, and everything about you was _shining_ , I swear – ”

“You were, of course, drunk.”

“No, I was in love and you were my Christmas miracle.”

“You must stop talking like that, Mae, honestly, I’m going to cut you off.”

Maedhros brushed his thumbs over Fingon’s cheekbones. “You were laughing up at me, and for once I wasn’t second guessing things, or worrying, probably because I had had too much eggnog, and I leaned down and kissed you.”

“You had eggnog breath.”

“You tasted perfect.”

“I _had_ been drinking a rather good beer.”

“I kissed you, and you went totally still in my arms, opening your lips under mine, god, you have perfect lips, and then you grabbed onto my sweater – ”

“Jesus, the one with the light up reindeer.”

“And you kissed me back. And there, in that moment, I knew – it was the best Christmas I’d ever had.” Maedhros leaned his forehead against Fingon’s, and Fingon wound his arms around Maedhros’ neck. “I’ve had even better since then, thanks to you, but that moment was – don’t hit me for saying it, I swear this is the last time – miraculous.” He closed his eyes, and Fingon rose up on his tiptoes to press their lips together softly, an echo of a kiss eight Christmases ago. “It was my best Christmas,” murmured Maedhros, when they broke apart. “And this may be one of the…hardest.”

“I know.”

“But there’s somehow…somehow not that much evil in the world, when I’m holding you. Despite everything horrible that’s happening right now.” Maedhros opened his eyes, which were bright, and smiled crookedly. “Are you going to roll your eyes at me for being a sap again?”

“I should,” said Fingon, “but I’m not.” He kissed Maedhros again and pulled him close. “It’s the darkest time of the year, and I’m all for finding light and warmth where we can – even if it’s _hopelessly_ sentimental.”

“I agree.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Fingon dropped his arms from Maedhros’ neck and pulled him along by the hem of the shirt. “C’mere.”

“Come where?”

“To the window.”

“What’s at the window? Apart from this burnt out candle, I told you the wax would drip everywhere.”

“Shhh.” Fingon wrapped an arm around Maedhros’ waist and rubbed at the window, fogged up by the warmth of the apartment, with his sleeve. “Just listen.”

Maedhros held still, halfway through picking at the hardened wax with a fingernail, and listened. Voices rose from the street below.

_“Oh the rising of the sun_

_And the running of the deer – ”_

“What – who’s that?”

“Wassailers,” said Fingon. “Christmas tradition, you know.”

Outside on the sidewalk, lit by a vast, silver full moon, was a crowd of people, standing together. One of the tallest ones shone very faintly in the moonlight, and appeared to have –

“Is that _Artanis_? Is she covered in _candy canes_?”

“Shhh.”

_“The playing of the merry organ_

_Sweet singing in the choir.”_

Maedhros gazed down at the group of his cousins and brothers singing in the moonlight, and felt Fingon’s fingers stroke soothingly over the bare strip of skin at his waistline. “It is one of the worst Christmases,” whispered Maedhros, thinking of the hospital bed, and the thin figure with the shock of red hair lying so still against the sheets, “but it is not so dark, after all.”

“Not so dark,” agreed Fingon, and reached forward to light the candle in the window.

 


	7. First Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Fingon and Maedhros's first holiday with a baby.

At the very least, Fingon thought, rocking Ereinion in his arms, the crying had stopped.

Shifting the baby into the crook of his elbow, Fingon handed Maedhros another tissue. Maedhros blew his nose, swiped at his fogged up glasses, and tried to compose himself.

Fingon looked at the red tip of his nose, considered a Rudolph joke, then decided the time wasn’t right.

“You did very good,” he said soothingly, and smoothed Maedhros’s hair back from his face.

“I lit the baby on fire,” said Maedhros, and looked like he might start crying again.

“It could have happened to anyone,” lied Fingon. “Candles are _tricky_.”

Maedhros looked miserably at their menorah. It was a beautiful thing in branching silver, a wedding gift from Indis. It was currently standing in their window, surrounded by a slowly dissolving puddle of foam from the fire extinguisher. Additional foam was still caught in Maedhros’s hair, and on the corner of Ereinion’s blanket. The bottom inch of Maedhros’s ponytail was singed, having caught alight when Maedhros bent over the candles with Ereinion in his arms, the flames leaping quickly to the fleecy pink blanket Ereinion was wrapped in.

Fingon, who had kept a fire extinguisher in the house since the day Maedhros moved in, had been very quick to the trigger, and no more than the bottom-most fluffy sheep on Ereinion’s blanket had been scorched. Maedhros’s hair was a slightly more dire story, and Maedhros’s emotional state a lost cause entirely.

“It’s his first Hanukkah,” said Maedhros, his voice thickening again. “His first Hanukkah, and I _lit him on fire_ , Fin, what would the Maccabees say?”

“Don’t let the Catholic near the oil? No, I’m kidding, honey, don’t cry.” Fingon jogged Ereinion to his shoulder and stooped to wrap his free arm around Maedhros’s shaking figure. He made soothing noises and rocked both husband and baby back and forth, all the while keeping an eye on the foam, which would shortly reach the new rug. “Come on, baby, pull it together. How many dire mistakes did we and our siblings survive as children with no ill effect? He didn’t even wake up, he’s none the wiser! And what a good story this will be when – ”

“We are never telling this story,” said Maedhros fiercely, pulling back and wiping his eyes. “No one can know the depth of my incompetence as a parent, my father would – my brothers would – my _mom_ – you can’t tell anyone, Finno. Promise.”

“I promise,” said Fingon, bending to kiss his distraught husband, and deciding the fact that he’d livestreamed the whole thing to Facebook could be saved for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Other [holiday prompts](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/tagged/holiday-prompts) and one-offs on my [Tumblr](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com), but couldn't resist adding this one. Happy Hanukkah!


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